


Hot Date

by THE_worm



Category: Cultist Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: (technically necrophilia????), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Established Relationship, Fansus, Gang Violence, Healthy Relationships, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Ruined Date, Such Opulence, Undead, cool mansus magitech, genderbender grailbugs impending, jackie chan warfare, more of a derivative work, not really a fanfic?, save for the overall Vibe and the setting (kind of), so they weaponized the Glory and what, this has very little to do with actual Cultist Simulator(tm), this is a wholly different universe with different hours and events happening there, undead boyfriend, vaguely lewd at times so you can tell that they're fuckin alright (not in this fic though), you won't notice though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22896661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THE_worm/pseuds/THE_worm
Summary: Where two hot dudes go on a (hot) dinner date, only for it to be ruined with the dinner dates' archnemesis-- gang violence.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5





	Hot Date

As many have professed before, the Alabaster Spire is simply too big. In fact, it’s so big, people working in the Ministry of Ash have to take a Dragonfly if they want to get to the Chitinous Office within a reasonable time. Even then, you can’t just get off the Dragonfly anywhere you want-- there is a limited amount of Skyhubs, the Spire’s very own tiny Skyports, where you can board or park it. Once you’re inside, you can catch a cabby to get around, and if you’re lucky, it will only be half full.

The Spire is divided into two departments (the Office and the Ministry), but they join together at the bottom, forming a cascading great hall, full of nooks and crannies occupied by tiny to above average sized shops, cafes, and breweries that offer various concessions of varying peculiarity to the busy business people on the go. There are two giant doors on each half of the hall, and Federico is watching the left one, the one leading into the labyrinthine rooms of the Chitinous Office.

The one sofa among its many identical twins Federico sits on shifts from being too soft to being too rigid, as it completely fails to accommodate his preferences. But it does this at a snail’s pace, so he doesn’t consciously acknowledge what exactly makes him uncomfortable and he keeps adjusting his posture to no avail.

He could be here any second now.  
Any second.

In all honesty, Federico is beginning to doubt that these doors are going to part and reveal any familiar faces. Are there problems at work? Maybe he forgot? Maybe-

Someone taps on his shoulder, interrupting this line of thought.

“Hey,” an artificial voice says, “I bought you a snack.”

Federico flinches instinctively. “Wha-? Oh, it’s you!”

There he is. Seven, or as Federico calls him affectionately, Sev. In his favorite white buttoned shirt with four sleeves, tight black pants that really make his exoskeleton stand out, and also leather suspenders. He normally wouldn’t wear suspenders, but Federico said once that he’d look great in them so he gave them a shot.

“None other than me.” His interpreter lights up a familiar shade of cyan on every word as if articulating them.

“It took you pretty long to show up. Problems at work again?”

“What? No! Not this time, at least. The traffic was pretty bad, so I took a Dragonfly to the ground floor.”

“That explains how you managed to escape from my watchful eye.”

“Sooo?” He shakes the red candy bar in his hand.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Federico takes the candy and examines the wrapper. “ _Original Toothy Chew with **real** Sweet Teeth..._” He gasps and covers his mouth, grinning like a child.

“Mother of pearl, Sev, you shouldn’t have… Whe- Where did you find it? I thought they stopped making these after, y’know, their harvesters were brutally mauled by candy bears.”

Seven would be smiling right now if he had a mouth to smile with. “They got in contact with a certain adherent of the Edge who was hunting on the Sugared Swamp for whatever reason. And as you can see, it’s back in production now, though overpriced as hell. I think I managed to snatch the last one in stock.”

“Thank youuu!! I’ve been craving a Toothy Chew like mad lately, you’re my savior!” He begins unwrapping the candy bar. “Such is the harsh reality of chocolate withdrawal.”

“Can’t imagine.”

“It’s for the best.” He takes a big, noisy bite, making almost half of the candy bar disappear. The Toothy Chew, as the name suggests, is full of worryingly human teeth. “MMmmM, mmmhhm, MMmmmMMmmmghr…”

“Well, these are the sounds I don’t often hear in public.”

“I can’t help it, it’sh sho good!”

“Anyway, when you’re done with the… huh...”

“Done with what?” Federico says, wiping chocolate from the corners of his mouth while clutching a sad, empty wrapper.

“Nevermind. I was going to ask how we’re going to get to the Red Quarter.”

“Depends on whether you want a quick or a scenic route.”

“Honestly? Let’s go with scenic. Everyone in this building is so bent on efficiency and speed that they often forget there are some paths that you shouldn’t optimize.”

“By boat it is then. I’ve already gone through the trouble of catching a ride.” He tosses the red paper into the trash can. “But first…”

“But first?”

Federico forcefully tugs on Seven’s suspenders and goes for a hug. He’s pretty tall, but Seven is a head taller, which almost makes him tower not only over humans, but other Parchment Beetles as well.

“Oh!” He retaliates with all four arms. “This is nice.”

“You look really cute in these suspenders, by the way.”

They stand like this for a while, then they head for the exit together.

Outside, the Alabaster Spire is not as overwhelming as it is inside, it still looks much bigger than it should be, however. It is surrounded by crowds of people on the ground and conga lines of Dragonflies and bigger ships in the air. Beside it runs a single waterway, or maybe two, or maybe even three. Hard to be sure.

“They said it’s going to be night soon.”

“So we’re going Nowhere again?”

“Seems like it. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to enjoy the sunset.”

Federico waves at a ferrywoman. She nods. The two step into a lazily swaying gondola with a bright red lantern on its bow. In its back is a wide cushioned seat for two people, on its floor is a beautiful carpet from the now gone Glimmering Reigns, adorned with the regally flowing ligature of a hundred of their tongues. Small crates, sacks, spare oars, and rolls of silk and parchment are scattered around the gondola.

“That’s a damn fine vessel,” Seven says while admiring the tiny island of concentrated opulence before him.

“Thanks. Worked my ass off to afford sinking exorbitant sums of money into the boat and all the paperwork to be able to appeal to you s-,” she bites her tongue, “To serve the more... prestigious clientele.”  
Federico squints at her.

“Alright, I assume you boys are heading for the Red Quarter?”

“Yes.”

“ _Boys?_ Ha! You’re giving my daily chitin routine too much credit.” Seven rests a pair of his arms on his hips. “Am I anywhere young enough to be called that? I’m an old boy.”

“Well…” She leans on her oar, absently examining him from head to toe. “Can never be sure with the bugs.”

“Okay, Eleanore, what the hell?!” Federico blurts out. “First you almost let it slip and now you’re being borderline speciesist? The hell is going on, it’s not like you at all!”

“...You two know each other?”

“What? No! The hell is going on with *you*?! We haven’t seen each other in so long and the first time we got an opportunity to meet up properly in a long while, you gave me a whooping and then swiftly excused yourself! And now you expect me to just escort you to your little dinner date like it’s nothing?”

“Okay..?”

“Eleanore, that’s called disciplinary action, it’s a part of my job. Your reckless rowing almost catapulted those two Amaranthine Aristocrat ladies straight into the canal!”

“Why did I have to attempt to drown somebody to make you notice that I exist?”

“...”

“I deliberately handled your sanction because I knew, it won’t end well for you if someone else is in charge.”

“Yeah? Walking off with two weeks’ pay is all fun and games for me?”

“The fine could be much worse! You could’ve lost your license, smartass!”  
Eleanore goes silent.

“I didn’t go out of my way because I hate you: I wanted to help, and I still do. Please, just let me do my part.”

Eleanore lets out a deep sigh and allows her shoulders to drop. “Fine, whatever, you win. I’m sorry I lashed out at you, Rico. I just had a streak of terrible luck lately and it’s getting to my head.” She turns to his companion. “Seven, was it? I’m sorry for that… remark.”

“Don’t beat yourself over it.”

“I’m sorry too,” Federico says.

“Huh?”

“For not spending time with you like we used to.”

“Eh, you’re a busy man, now, and all that jazz, I guess”

“Y’know what? I’m going to take a day off and I’m taking you to St. Arraila’s, like old times.”

“Oh man, Rico, you know how to make a woman happy, did anyone tell you that?”

“ **AHEM!** ” Seven makes his best attempt at coughing through his interpreter, despite lacking anything to cough with or through. “You done? Look up.”

The Twin-Glories are still dancing the quickstep around each other, but not tango and certainly not English waltz because that would be too catastrophic for the already broken House. (Truly, even a notion of the Glories dancing anything other than quickstep is absurd.) However, now their course is lower and their ruthless light is tinged rich orange.

“Oh, it’s almost the sunset already,” Eleanore mouths. “Well then, gentlemen, sit back, I shall take it from here.”

“Hey, ‘Nore,” Federico cuts in, “can you make a short detour at the Verge?”

“ _Short detour at the Verge?_ ” she stresses every word. “Wh- there’s- do y-... Sure, why not?”

“Great, thanks!”

Eleanore smacks the water with her oar and it begins to boil. She tightens her grip around the charring wood as she taps into the greater power of Forge. With a grunt and a swift motion, she makes a wave that launches the gondola down the waterway.

“Hold onto your butts, we’re going up!” 

“ _Up?!_ ” Seven shouts, not quite keeping up with what’s going on.

“Just watch this.”

The canal curves and bends reluctantly into an upwards-pointing shape, coming off the city like a tendon separated from the wrist with a scalpel. The boat races up, dissecting air and water with its steel bow. A moment’s passing, and now it soars above the countless houses, parks, and plazas, with a magnificent view of the surrounding city.

“You really should’ve taken a ‘Fly or something. Less hustle, faster, and, uh, more intimate. Boats usually can’t fly,” she says while rowing through the sky. “Unlike this freak of modern shipbuilding.”

Beneath the planks and on the wood hide the tiny thinly-veiled wonders of contemporary thaumaturgy. The soft buzzing of until now dormant Principles of Forge and Knock, carefully woven through each other like the most intricate embroidery is a sight both to behold and feel encroaching on one’s fringes.

The setting Glories dance their vigorous dance between the pillars that support the uppermost tier of the Stone Meridian. Shadows and the golden dew of spilling Glory-light mingle on the streets below, swarmed by the people and their curious carriages with no wheels.

“Holy shit,” Seven gasps. “I now get why you’re trying to get me to leave the Spire more often.” He subconsciously tenses his arms around Federico. “Well, it’s not like I didn’t get why before or anything, it’s just, you know why I do. You know, right?”

“Sev, I think your interpreter is malfunctioning.” He pauses. “This is pretty, though.”

“It is.”

Eleanore rows harder and the boat rapidly speeds up, reaching the point where mild discomfort meets with mild distress. The blurry mess of shapes underneath them darts past. In this mess, Federico notices some irregularities that soon become dominant, before completely enveloping the landscape. Broken architecture sprawling through the city like mold-- folding in and out, cutting into itself and the frames of buildings around it. New houses grow out of each other as if it’s a natural thing to do, while others burrow into each other like hungry animals. It has structure, but no order, no pattern, no logic; it’s uncanny at best and improbably terrifying and/or repulsive at worst.

“Is this… Are those the Projects?” Federico says.

“Yep. The uglier they are, the easier it’ll be to take a shortcut. Also the more dangerous it’ll be,” Eleanore adds with a snort.

“I’ve never actually seen them from up above. Mainly because you’re not supposed to fly over them.”

“Fly?” She stomps on the floorboards twice and for a moment it lights up purple. “This is a boat, we’re still on the water. Or so it thinks.”

He rolls his eyes and then looks down from the gondola again. “Wait, is it just me? These weirdly look like… tumors?”

“That’s because they are!” Seven gleefully chimes in. “A big chunk of my work at the Office ends up being related to or caused by them. Simply put, Projects are huge jumbles of dubiously shaped bricks and tangled up thauma nets that didn’t have the chance to turn into proper thaumic infrastructure. They’re usually disconnected from the city’s larger network, but sometimes they worm their way in and send garbage signals all over the place, messing up the way things operate.”

“Sev, you’re so knowledgeable, yet at times so oblivious, y’know that?” Seven puts his arm on his neck and cocks his head to the side.

“C’mere, big guy, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” He pulls him even closer to himself and rests his head on his shoulder. “In fact, I find it charming. You’re a cutie.”

Seven doesn’t say anything and looks away. He slides his arm down Federico’s and when their hands meet, he locks his fingers between his partner’s.  
Federico smiles.

“Sorry to bother you lovebirds, but I have to ask you to hold onto your asses again,” Eleanore cuts in. “I’ve found a shortcut,” she says while pointing at a weathervane-looking thing on the ship’s bow, “and I’m going to do a… risky maneuver to use it to my advantage.”

“You _what?_ ” Seven shouts, or rather, due to his interpreter’s quirks asks very loudly.

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before the ship is put into a freefall. As it plunges like a bag of bricks, the features of the Projects, unfortunately, become clearer. One can now discern all the unsightly details with a naked eye. One of them, however, stands out: a huge off-centered hexagonal window, gaping open rather amiably.

“Is that thing your shortcut?!” Federico shouts.

“You bet!” Eleanore pushes the boat off of the air around her, and it goes flying towards the window at a breakneck pace.

“AAAAAAAAA!!” says Seven.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” Federico replies.

Eleanore remains silent.

The gondola leaps into the window and the pitch-black guts of the grotesquely shaped house ... and comes out skipping on the water of the canal like a pebble thrown by a child into the sea while making huge splashes, coming to a stop with a complete revolution. Behind it is a rundown lighthouse.

“Here’s your short detour at the Verge,” Eleanore says while her passengers regain posture. 

“The Glories are about to set so kiss or whatever you want to do, I won’t look.”

“I don’t have a mouth,” Seven mutters as if he ran out of breath.

“Well, I don’t know then, tickle him with your mandibles?” 

Federico gives her a death glare.

“A-alright, alright!” She raises her hands and lets the oar slip and fall onto the floor. “I’ll quietly stare into the distance over there, just do your business.” She goes off to drop the small anchor into the water.

Here it is, the Verge, the outermost part of the Stone Meridian, walled-off of the House proper with walls whiter than marble and tougher than tempered steel. But in this very spot, there is a breach (a crack, a gash, an inconsistency, a gap) that lets the water run off the edge. The exposed brick is stained with faintly throbbing carmine. There are still places where the city is hurting.

The Glories quickstep on the horizon, racing each other in a frantic, passionate dance. Their golden light unfolds like a carpet on the canal’s glassy surface, dives beneath and emerges broken into shapes that shouldn’t be possible. There is no sound other than that of the rushing waves and the creaking wood; no movement other than the rocking of the boat and the course of the twinned Suns.

It’s serene.  
And a moment of stillness is such a rarity on the Meridian.

“Hey, Sev?”

“Mm?”

“Can I do something?”

“Sure?”

Federico springs up and sits on Seven’s lap, pressing his back into his stomach. He grabs Seven’s lower arms by the wrists, pulls them to his chest and holds them there.

“You shouldn’t have asked, really,” Seven says and wraps Federico in his arms.

“Ahhhh, that’s the stuff...”

“I find it curious how we have the privilege of seeing a sunset in the Mansus, something only the deadest of the Dead could do.”

“Mhmm.” Federico’s eyes are barely open.

“This is a nice moment.”

“If only we could have these more often.”

Seven puts his chin on Federico’s head and watches the reflection of the Glories slowly drift past. “Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Didn’t know you were so excited,” Federico whispers.

“Huh?”

“That thing.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Your pants.” he murmurs, somewhat flustered.

“That’s a gun.” Seven’s interpreter's simulated voice, timing, and deadpan delivery make it sound like a punchline to some kind of joke.

“Come again?” He raises a brow, concerned.

“A gun. A cylinder that shoots people. You, of all people, should know what a gun is,” he teases.

“Wha- wait, no, I mean... Why do you have a gun, where did you get one, how come no one-”

“Shhh,” Seven places his finger on Federico's lips. “I'm not taking any more chances with you. And whatever happens, I’m not letting you risk on my behalf.”

“I… I don’t know what grueling battle you’re preparing for, but thank you. For willing to smuggle a gun for my sake.” He sighs. “Am I a bad policeman for letting you keep it?”

“No, I’m just your deputy, that’s all.”

“You’re a dummy, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They enjoy their last moments of fleeting, broken colors of today.

The last ray of light flickers out and the sky turns barren and black. Tiny green ‘stars’ ignite like matches across the firmament. They are sparse, but their presence is undeniable, pressing, warning. Immediately, the air grows noticeably colder.

“I think we should get going now-- the Suns are down,” Federico breaks the silence.

“Yeah, I’m not comfortable with sitting near a hole in the Wall while we’re Nowhere either,” Seven says.

“You done? I didn’t want to interrupt you, ‘cause you two looked like you were having a moment.” Eleanore tugs on a chain that goes into the canal. “Red Quarter, now, no detours?”

“Mhm.”

“Yep.”

Eleanore picks up her oar and it chars as the water boils once again.

“...and when he asked her, she said that they shouldn’t have put flowers on his grave!”

Federico giggles while dangling his legs like a child. 

“Honestly, I didn’t expect to understand your jokes.” Eleanore grins. “Most of the time, when your kin was trying to make a joke around me, I felt like my intelligence was indirectly being belittled.”

“There are people who just want to show off their lingo and knowledge,” Federico says. “Not an enjoyable lot.”

“You’re the one to speak, Mr. Dagger-Shaped liminal Micropenetration.”

“That was two years ago! Are you going to _treacherously_ remind me of that until the day I die?!”

“And then some more after that.”

“Hey, we’re here!” Eleanore shouts while pointing in the distance.

A tall, thin wall riddled with windows rolls into the view (or was it already here?). It has one huge opening in the middle from which people swarm in and out. Near it, the rows of small crescent-shaped harbors are carved into the smooth stone. No canal extends into the Red Quarter for a simple reason: running water is dangerous for the Amaranthine Aristocracy.

Eleanore swiftly pulls up her gondola to a free spot in the harbor, narrowly beating out another gondolier who snarled but retreated, admitting their defeat.

“That’ll be twenty-six pearls,” she says, making an extraordinarily pleasant grimace.

“One moment.” Federico rustles through his things. “Here.” He tosses her a leather pouch.

“It’s... full?” She starts untying a needlessly elaborate knot on its top. “Suspiciously so.”

Federico jumps onto steady land and extends a hand down into the boat.  
Seven stares at it for a bit before taking the offer. “You’re awfully courteous today.”

“It’s for a special occasion,” he reaffirms and leans to kiss Seven’s hand. His face stays on it after the kiss as he quietly laughs to himself.

“Are you okay?”

“That felt so fucking dumb,” he whispers.

Federico explodes with an ugly nasal laugh, while Seven trembles with his hand on his forehead, his interpreter flashing yellow. (Interpreters notoriously have trouble vocalizing laughter and screams of agony, and instead, in both cases, it will light up a shade of yellow.)

“Federico, you big bastard man!” Eleanore cries out. “There is at least five braids' worth of pearls, but they’re all in _beads_!! What the hell is your problem??”

Federico grins and snaps his finger at her. “Keep the change.”

“Riveting; you have wounded my very soul. I will not forget this.” She pauses. “And I would’ve kept the change, anyway! There’s no way I would sift through all of this!” She throws a couple of beads at him.

Federico gasps. “How wasteful! These are the gifts from the Obelisk herself and, yet you have the gall to throw them out?!” he raises his voice in a mocking tone.

“Whatever! I’m going home! A hearty meal and a hot tub are waiting for me there. Send me a sundove if you need me or something.” She pushes the boat off of the small jetty and waves her hand. “Bye, Seven!”

“Bye, Eleanore!”

“Bye, Mr. Dagger-Shaped Liminal Micropenetration!”

“Hey!! Only Sev can publicly shame me with that!”

“See you two ‘round!” And with that said, she sails off at the speed that normal gondolas shouldn’t reach under the risk of spontaneously catching on fire and/or immediately coming apart.

“Well, that certainly was something. How long do you know each other?”

“We’ve entered the Parliament of Cogs at the same time and bonded first over it, then over our shared interests. Both displaced Long, both eager to help. She now tends to boats and waterways, and my occupation cannot be named in public.”

“Wild. You two must be good friends.”

“Yes, but she is not tonight’s focus here-- _you_ are. So let’s hurry beyond these walls because I’m pretty sure we’ve missed our tram.”


End file.
